


Imagine the Christmas Dinners

by distantstarlight



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas Dinner, Christmas Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Jealous John, Jealous Sherlock, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Possessive Sherlock, Relationship(s), Requited Love, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock is a Good Boyfriend, Shy Sherlock, everyone is jealous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-08 18:09:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5507729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doctor John Watson is enjoying Christmas with his best friend and his family. It begins with a big surprise, and gets more and more surprising as the holiday advances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Watsons

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like writing a short holiday story. Enjoy.

The pub was crowded. The holidays were nearly upon them, visitors from out-of-town had flooded in, and everywhere they’d gone there were smiling groups of people gathering to rejoice. Normally John loved it. He loved the decorations, loved the secret shopping, loved the food, the festive clothing, and very normally John loved the company.

He’d invited his small family to London. He missed his mum and dad, and yes, Harry too. They’d all taken the train in and were ensconced in the temporarily empty flat that Mrs. Turner normally rented out, but her married ones had split up a couple up months ago, and she’d been too sentimental about them to let it out to anyone else. Sherlock arranged for its use on behalf of John’s family and the doctor had been grateful, and a bit surprised.

That surprise was eclipsed when mum and dad surprised him with _another_ relative. Cousin Owen was in from Canada, and at first John was thrilled to see his cousin at long last. Eagerly he’d introduced him to his best friend and had been pleased when Sherlock had managed to mind his manners and get on with the man. That had been two days ago. John was no longer pleased, no longer happy, and no longer enjoying the season.

At first when Sherlock had exclaimed over their strong family resemblance, John had laughed and agreed. As Watsons, John and Owen could have been brothers, both men sharing the same sandy brown hair, the same blue eyes, and the same nose. John was a doctor and a soldier, and Owen was a research scientist, a fact that intrigued the lanky detective, and opened the doors to conversations with John’s cousin.

 _Long_ conversations.

Long _detailed_ conversations that had lasted well into the night that first day, and spilled over into a group luncheon the next day, and then…then…Sherlock had _gone out_ with Owen and had not returned to 221 B Baker Street. John was shocked to realize that Sherlock had stayed at Mrs. Turner’s, despite the fact that he was mere feet from his own home, and had apparently _spent the night_ with Owen.

With _Owen!_

_Owen who was from Canada and leaving in less than a week._

_With Owen who was smart, funny, and practically John’s twin._

_Owen who was_ not _John, yet had managed to successfully seduce Sherlock in practically no time, divesting the detective of his long-cherished virginity without so much as a by-your-leave._

John had waited for Sherlock’s return for hours. Standing by the kitchen window he’d peered down at the streets anxiously, watching for the tall form he missed. He paced throughout the flat, his anxiety growing with each minute that passed. His mobile was in his hand, and John had been tempted dozens of times to simply send a message off, restraining himself over and over again because Sherlock was a free man, one who could choose with whom to spend his time, and Owen wasn’t that interesting any way. _Was he?_

Sherlock came waltzing in at 8 am still wearing the same clothes from the night before. _Sherlock was doing the walk of shame!_ _Well, anyone else would have been ashamed but apparently not Sherlock Holmes._ “Delightful companion! I don’t know when I’ve been as entertained by a new face as I was last night. I look forward to our next conversation greatly!” The detective was bright eyed and smiling, taking John’s tea and drinking it down happily. John could barely absorb his words, becoming ill because of them. _Sherlock was his!_ No one else had to right to make him happy _that way_ , only John! He needed to race to the loo, blaming too much eggnog for his retching, a faint excuse that Sherlock accepted. Sick fear filled him. _Sherlock wasn’t like that! He’d never been like that! Never once in all their years had Sherlock ever just gone off and spent the night with someone, had he?_ John felt anguish fill him. _How long? How long had he been operating under the misconception that Sherlock was asexual, or at least abstinent?_ John had for so long felt that they were as close as they could possibly be _considering_ and he’d foolishly been content with it. _How had Owen done it? How had his cousin wooed Sherlock in a single night, how had he charmed Sherlock into his bed? How had he done so, not only right in front of John’s own parents, but knowing his cousin was right next door?_ John could hardly bear it, and only the comforting buzz of Sherlock’s snores as he napped the daylight hours away soothed the doctor. _Sherlock was here, with him, and not off with Owen_.

Now many hours later he was swallowing soda at the bar, watching Sherlock and Owen laugh and talk at a booth while they sipped their drinks. Both men kept showing each other things on their mobiles, and Sherlock was clearly saving things, taking notes! Nothing about them revealing that they’d already spent the night together, except the smug knowing smile that Owen gave John whenever their eyes met. _Okay sure, Owen was a research scientist. Yes, he worked for the space community_ and _was the CEO of his own small technology firm._ John supposed that maybe someone like Sherlock would be impressed by such details, he did admire intelligence. Owen’s eyes roamed freely up and down Sherlock’s body, his expression appreciative, but Sherlock seemed oblivious to it.

John couldn’t bear it. He’d had feelings for Sherlock for so long, deeply _hidden_ feelings because Sherlock didn’t _do_ sex, and John loved his mad friend too much to even try and breech those final barriers that would make them the couple everyone in London assumed they were. Instead John had held himself back, accepting his place at Sherlock’s side as his partner in every possible way but that, and apparently leaving lots of room for Owen to waltz right on in to slip between Sherlock’s sheets and take what should have been John’s.

“Whiskey. Straight.” Soda wasn’t going to cut it. John wasn’t normally given to strong drink, preferring a good beer or ale over the stronger stuff. He had enough problems without following Harry’s well-trodden path to self-destruction. She was off with their parents and Clara right now, ostensibly gift shopping, but John knew that all of them were secretly pleased that Owen and Sherlock had gotten on so well and were leaving the new pair alone to solidify their relationship, “Again.” The first burning shot did nothing to quell the sickness he was feeling. A second one was mandatory.

He had no idea why Sherlock demanded he come with them tonight, or why he’d invited everyone else though he had said he had. John was the one supposed to be organizing outings with his family, not Sherlock! Owen eyed John’s now empty shot-glass from across the crowded bar, and that smug smile returned. _Bastard!_ He knew exactly what he was about, and for the first time ever, John _hated_ his family. He didn’t mean to scowl but he did, and just as he did Sherlock turned to look at him, his beautiful heterochromatic eyes widening in surprise before glancing over to Owen’s self-satisfied grin. John was further shocked to see Sherlock instantly push away from the booth he’d been sharing with his cousin, elbow his way through the crowd to get to John, and then nearly loom over him, “John, I want to go home. Now.”

Mum and dad were just coming in, Harry’s arms laden with parcels and bags, Clara’s face as happy as mum’s. “Everyone’s just gotten here.” John waved his empty glass toward the door, and smiled at his mum’s delighted face, “I can’t leave now.” _There was nothing for it. He’d have to sit there and endure the knowledge that he’d lost the love of his life to his only cousin, and he’d have to be a grown-up about it._ “One more.” he demanded to the bar-keep, waving his empty shot-glass with desperation.

“ _No_ more.” Sherlock gripped John’s shoulders and steered him back to the table. He further stunned John by corralling the rest of the Watsons, giving mum and dad his old seat, insisting that Harry and Clara take the other bench seat, and essentially making Owen the head of the table, albeit crowded on all sides by relatives while Sherlock and John appropriated some unoccupied chairs and sat at the far end side by side. John blinked but the tension in his chest eased somewhat, though mum looked a bit startled.

John didn’t know what to make of Sherlock now because his flatmate had his arm extended over the back of John’s chair and was telling his parents all about their most recent case, a rather gory affair that ended up with John leaping rather heroically between a gunman and Sherlock, and sustaining a rather nasty blow to his ribs, but otherwise remaining unharmed while keeping Sherlock not only untouched, but free to call the Met who sent Lestrade’s team to do the official arresting of the suspect. Owen looked as confused as John felt because Sherlock was behaving rather…proprietary.

People bumped past them over and over again, but John didn’t say a word when they were jostled. He was too busy being shocked with Sherlock’s continuing atypical behavior. The detective was chatty, friendly, laughing, and even _teasing_ , joking around with Clara and dad, and every time someone bumped into them the detective’s arm fell a bit closer to John’s back and shoulder until Sherlock was as good as holding John covetously. John didn’t move or protest a bit. “So there we were, running down the alley when suddenly the man turns and throws a _knife_ at us!” Sherlock was telling another story of a case they’d had last week, “You’ll never guess what happened.”

“What?” mum was leaning toward Sherlock, her glass clutched in her hand, her eyes sparkling with enjoyment. She clearly relished the tall man’s company, as dad evidently did, both parents smiling approvingly, “What happened dear?” she seemed filled with anticipation.

“John _caught_ it!” announced Sherlock with some drama and everyone gasped, “He plucked it right out of the air as it came toward us. I don’t know who was more surprised, the villain, or me.”

 _Sherlock hadn’t said a word at the time! He’d just called Lestrade, argued with the arresting officers, then complained his way home where they’d ordered take-away and spent the evening in_. Everyone was looking at John, “It was a trick I learned in the army.” he explained weakly.

“John’s quite amazing, I’m continually surprised. By my estimations my personal injuries have dropped 65% in frequency since we’ve met. He keeps me safe, and he’s always willing to go the distance no matter how hairy the cases become, all while fulfilling his duties at the clinic where he works.” John looked up at Sherlock who actually seemed…proud! _Was he bragging?_

“Well, I need to pay my half of the rent; we don’t often get paid for the Work.” offered John lamely.

“See? He’s very noble, and entirely correct. It’s the puzzles I’m interested in, not money, but John keeps us going no matter what.” Sherlock earned a very healthy living from the paying clients but he was making it sound as if John supported them entirely, “I’d probably have died of starvation by now if not for him.”

 _Now Sherlock was exaggerating_ , “You’re a lazy git who won’t cook for himself. You’d live on Mrs. Hudson’s biscuits and tea forever if you could.” protested John.

“John also ensures our diet is a healthy one, we need it for all the running about we’re required to do, otherwise he’s correct again. Mrs. Hudson is terribly indulgent. I really don’t know what I’d do without him. I’d be entirely lost.” Their landlady baked every single day, and John had long been of the opinion that her herbal soothers were to blame for her need to make sweet treats so often. “I’m not fond of cooking.” _Or cleaning, or doing the laundry, or finding his own mobile_. “John is far too tolerant of me; no one else would put up with someone who is frankly a rather shockingly lazy flatmate. On the other hand, he really does prefer to do things his own way. I try not to interfere.”

John rolled his eyes because Sherlock wasn’t wrong. More than once he’d re-washed the dishes, or hoovered again, or re-folded the laundry so everything was just so. Dad was laughing, and even Harry and Clara were grinning, “You sound like the perfect pair.”

“I think so.” said Sherlock with a definite tone, “John is my absolute best friend in the world, the most perfect partner I could ever have wished for. I can only hope to keep him by my side for as long as possible.” John was stunned! Sherlock’s words were almost…

“How _romantic_.” sighed mum with delight, “You really were made for each other.” Now the glance she gave Owen was reproving and John felt weirdly better.

“Indeed Mrs. Watson. I count myself very fortunate to have John Watson in my life. Thank you for him.” John gaped up at his flatmate. _Sherlock sounded sincere, and not a bit corny. He was legitimately thanking mum and dad for having him!_

“Have you two been serious for long?” Clara was so sweet looking. She smiled over the table, her face keen with interest.

“Oh, probably right from the start, but neither of us is very demonstrative so its difficult to say. I don’t have _friends_ so I’m unsure where boundaries normally lie when it comes to interpersonal relationships. I understand that finding a _best_ friend is extremely rare, especially for one such as I. John is tremendously tolerant of my many idiosyncrasies. Not a lot of men put up with human body parts showing up in the fridge, though by now I’ve learned to use only the one crisper, and not the entire unit.”

John had barely said a thing. He was too aware that Sherlock’s arm had crept up slowly, and now there was nothing subtle about where it was. John was clearly being held by Sherlock Holmes, right out in public, right in front of John’s family, very clearly right in front of Owen, _and_ Sherlock was as good as saying they were a _proper_ couple! “Well, I’ve at least convinced him to bag and label them. It’s a little disturbing to try and make tea when you have to reach past someone’s lower leg to get to the milk.”

Everyone but Owen laughed. “Is that legal here? Human parts in your fridge?”

“Well, we’ve been raided by the police several times, they’ve never said anything about it. Of course they _were_ looking for drugs and not body parts, but I haven’t used since well before John and I met. I used to be an addict, but John watches over me now, and I haven’t felt the need to regress. I do smoke on occasion, and he does complain about that, but it’s a small price to pay, I feel.”

John blinked. _Sherlock had just told his family about his past addiction._ Also, and this was the more shocking part for John, the detective _really_ was making it sound like they were a couple. They certainly _looked_ like a couple, especially right now. John made no move to shift Sherlock’s arm, and even slumped a tiny bit toward the detective, making the claim even more obvious. Mum sighed happily.

“I didn’t know you were gay John.” Owen was looking at John, the smug smile long gone. John wasn’t expecting a direct question like that and floundered for an answer.

“What has that got to do with anything?” demanded Sherlock almost angrily, “Sexual orientation and compatibility have nothing to do with each other! Besides, John is bisexual, though he tends heavily toward women. He’s never dated a man as far as I know.”

“Until _you_ , you mean.” Owen sounded sour and there it was. The biggest mystery. Were John and Sherlock _dating? Even John wanted to know!_

Sherlock simply shrugged, his fingers tightening on John’s shoulder, “We’ve never defined our relationship beyond being best friends. It hasn’t been necessary.”

Mum _cooed!_ “You’ll ask him properly though, won’t you Sherlock? You won’t let my John go on _wondering?”_ her eyes flickered almost guiltily toward Owen, “You know, for _clarity_.”

Sherlock was silent for a moment then twisted so he was smiling down at John, “John Watson, would you do me the inestimable honor of being my partner in all possible ways?” He looked eager, happy, and filled with expectation.

John was utterly stunned and simply blurted the words out, “You want me to be your boyfriend?”

Everyone laughed, and mum blotted a sentimental tear from her eye, “Yes John, _of course_. Who else would I ever want to be with?” Sherlock’s gazed was fixed on John’s face, he didn’t so much as glance in Owen’s direction.

John was grinning now as hard as Owen was frowning. _This was the most amazing surprise ever!_ “Yeah…the answer is yes. Of course Sherlock.” His heart filled with joy. _This was brilliant, simply brilliant!_

“There? Clear enough?” Sherlock was smiling at mum now who was openly crying. Clara passed her a tissue and blotted her own eyes. “Of course most of London has thought we’ve been together for years. I’m not sure what they’ve thought of John’s dating so many women, but I’ve never liked it.”

“He’s ruined every attempt I’ve ever made at getting a girlfriend.” confessed John who was feeling a bit stupid about that, “I guess I could have realized something a lot sooner.”

“Well John’s always been a bit dull when it comes to matters of the heart, but you love him anyway I’ll wager.” Dad wasn’t pulling any punches and John blushed hard. Everything was happening so fast, but he was so happy. He didn’t know what to say, or how to react really.

“True enough.” agreed Sherlock, stunning John again with another look, this one filled with blatant affection, and it looked…right. John couldn’t help returning the look, and Sherlock’s voice softened, “John is the most special person I’ve ever met. Not feeling things for someone like him would be impossible, even for high-functioning sociopaths.”

“You aren’t a sociopath.” protested John automatically. _Sherlock was a passionate person, who, while entirely able to set his emotional responses aside during a case, was equally capable of acting out his feelings in every other aspect of his life. He had emotions. All of them_.

“Clearly not John, I know that now thanks to _you_.” John heard his family ooh happily, well, probably not Owen, but he couldn’t see anyone but Sherlock who was helping John to his feet, “You will excuse us, we’ll meet again for lunch tomorrow, as planned.”

“Of course my dear, off you go boys. We’ll see you tomorrow.” Mum looked highly approving, and still overcome with sentiment. John couldn’t stop grinning, and gave his family a happy smile before being steered away by Sherlock who almost rushed him to the door. _He had a boyfriend!_

“ _Home_ John. Now.” Sherlock was very insistent and John was in no mood to argue. They walked the streets quickly as they always did, side by side, the only difference was now Sherlock kept his arm about John’s shoulder. It took them less than fifteen minutes to make it back to 221 B Baker Street. John smiled the entire time, and when he glanced up at his new boyfriend, he was pleased to see that Sherlock looked content.

The moment they were safely within the confines of their home Sherlock looked down at John, “I’m sorry for last night. I see now that I worried you. I apologize John. Absolutely nothing happened between Owen and I that you could not have witnessed. We talked about our respective jobs, that’s it. He does possess a great deal of technical information which I of course enjoyed immensely, but it wasn’t…it was never...” Sherlock finally seemed to flounder, “You were unwell after I returned. That was because of me, wasn’t it?” Sherlock looked disconcerted, “I made you feel poorly because you must have been thinking things, things that I in no way clarified for you. Forgive me John.” Sherlock never gave apologies but how many times had he said so now? Sherlock took John’s hands in his, “In my wildest dreams I would never have thought that things could happen so effortlessly. I _do_ care for you John, and only you. No one else I have ever come across is as important as you are. There isn’t a single person in the world I would care to share myself with if it is not you. I didn’t think last night. I just went off and stayed out all hours enjoying myself, and never thought what that might look like to you.”

John just stood there, a foolish smile on his face, “So. What now… _boyfriend_?”

Sherlock’s face turned scarlet, and his gaze dropped bashfully to the floor, “I don’t actually know John.” _Oh my gods Sherlock was shy!_ John had never seen such an entrancing sight! “I just needed to let you know how it actually is between us. I know we’ve never spoken of it, but for a long time now I’ve considered us to be a…” Sherlock blushed even more and seemed incapable of meeting John’s eyes, “A pair. You know. As you said.”

“Boyfriends?” John would never get over the way Sherlock nearly squirmed, his cheeks painted with bright spots of color, and even his ears turning red. “I can’t tell you how delighted that makes me Sherlock, really. It really really does.”

Sherlock’s face crinkled up into a smile that John knew was just for him. The detective didn’t smile this way for anyone else. It was special, full of boyishness, and so bloody sweet John couldn’t help himself. Needing to stand on his toes he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Sherlock’s full cupid bow lips, “Oh.” Sherlock’s blush was amazing. Here was a man who could go to Buckingham Palace in a sheet and yet was as flushed a maiden on her wedding day over a few sweet words and the most innocent of kisses. John was so charmed he was nearly as wordless at his _every-way-possible_ partner. “Thank you John.” Sherlock was astonishingly modest.

“Tea?” offered John. There was absolutely no need to rush forward. He found the idea of slowly romancing his new boyfriend to be incredibly enticing. Sherlock looked relieved at John’s offer that the doctor knew he’d made the correct choice. “Go pick a movie.” Sherlock heaved a sigh, and smiled, his eyes lighting up as both men silently acknowledged that tearing off of clothes and consummation wasn’t immediately on the books for activities.

Since it was the holidays John made a spicy apple tea, the cinnamon in it turning the flat into an aromatic haven. He saw that Sherlock had changed, now wearing his old comfortable pyjamas and robe, heavy socks on his feet, and his sash tied tightly. John smiled and excused himself to do the same. He was more than willing to take things easy, he didn’t need to bend Sherlock over the furniture right this second! He wasn’t an animal! John chose a soft and somewhat frumpy set of sleepwear that wouldn’t alarm the young scientist and set about enjoying their first evening as an _openly together_ couple.

Sherlock was sitting on the sofa and reading something on his mobile. He seemed entirely preoccupied but John noticed that the crumbs had been hastily swept off the cushions and kicked under the furniture, and that there was a very noticeable doctor sized space right beside the detective. He took it and Sherlock’s face took on a pleased expression. John had no idea what Sherlock had chosen. All he knew was that Sherlock’s thigh was warm and firm, and pressed hard against his leg. It didn’t take much time before a long thin arm settled around John’s shoulder, Sherlock’s fingers toying with the seam of John’s vest.

 _Oh but it was delicious_. John sat there, absolutely dying from happiness. This was utter perfection as far as he was concerned. Everything was sweet, marvelous, wonderful, and exactly what he wanted. No one who knew Sherlock would believe that the detective was enjoying a cuddle with his doctor instead of spending the night frantically doing experiments in the kitchen, or pestering the morgue for more body parts, or harassing the duty officers at the Met for a case. The telly blared in front of them and John didn’t take in a single sound. He was too busy trying to commit the moment to memory, and cursed his lack of a mind palace. He really needed to build one, especially now that he and Sherlock were finally dating.

“John?” Sherlock sounded idly curious.

“Yes?”

“I would like you to do something for me.” Sherlock was a bit on the wild side, perhaps not entirely sociopathic but definitely nowhere near sane when it came to searching for answers to things he was curious about, idle or not.

 _Oh dear_.

Sherlock could make any demand at all right now and John would do it. _What did he want John to do?_ “What would you like?” _No holds barred. John would do anything for Sherlock, who was he kidding?_

“Would you mark me?”

“What?”

“Mark me. You know, so people…know.”

 _Oh_. John’s brain whited out. _Mark him? Mark Sherlock?_ His mouth made sounds, “What would you like?”

Sherlock pointed to the upper portion of his neck, “Something here, where people can see it.”

Sherlock wanted a love bite on his neck. John’s eyes blinked randomly for a moment as his brain rebooted, “Yeah, I think I can manage that.”

John looked up. His new sweetheart’s neck was a little out of reach. He considered it for a moment. Sherlock wasn’t helping at all, but then, he wouldn’t know how, would he? Instead he just sat there, waiting expectantly. John blinked again and then shifted himself, “John?”

John was now sitting astride Sherlock’s lap, his knees spread wide, their chests nearly pressed together. “May I kiss you Sherlock?” he asked softly. Sherlock’s eyes were huge. He looked surprised, excited, uncertain, and just so incredible that John knew he’d never seen a sweeter sight. The doctor received a shaky nod of permission, and slowly John leaned in to press their lips together.

Sherlock simply _melted_. John found that his arms had crept around Sherlock’s neck and that Sherlock’s arms were now cinched around his waist, and both of them were exchanging close-mouthed kisses. John slowly kissed his way over Sherlock’s face, and enjoyed how the taller man shivered with each delicate touch. When John worked his way over to Sherlock’s ear, sucking lightly on the lobe, Sherlock moaned softly, sounding a tiny bit surprised. Encouraged, John kissed his way over Sherlock’s neck, recalling very well where Sherlock’s shirt collars ended, and with great care he bit and sucked a bright spot onto the alabaster surface. “John.” Sherlock nearly growled and John found his head being clutched by two very large and very strong hands, his mouth pressed even harder to Sherlock’s throat. Pleased with the response he was getting, John set to work giving his boyfriend a very visible and very colorful mark.

Sherlock was becoming aroused; John could feel it. It excited him to know that he was making the normally extraordinarily controlled scientist so turned on that he was physically reacting. Sherlock was the master of his transport, it did as he told it to do, except now, now John was taking control and clearly Sherlock loved it.

He let his hands begin to roam. John slowly felt his way over Sherlock’s chest, admiring the hard flat muscles beneath his soft top. He didn’t want to push too much though, they had all the time in the world, and there was no need to turn tonight into a frantic make-out session. Indeed, as soon as John finished creating his brand Sherlock pulled back, breathing a little harder, two bright spots of color on his cheeks, “John.”

“I know.” John sat back on Sherlock’s lap and admired his handiwork, “It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

Sherlock considered it, running his fingertips over the spot, “It feels warm.” He stroked it again, “I like it. That was a more intense experience than I expected.” John nodded. He doubted anyone had done anything like that with Sherlock before. He’d watched Sherlock fake-flirt with suspects, or people he was attempting to manipulate, but never once had John known Sherlock to allow anyone to touch him except in the most fleeting of ways. He wondered briefly why Sherlock would ask such a thing of him before realizing the answer himself. Sherlock _wanted_ people to know that he was taken, that he was desired. He’d been lonely for a very long time, and it wasn’t a surprise to John at least, that now that they were together that the scientist would demand proof of their shared affection, literally.

Sherlock was almost unbearably precious like this. John had no idea that he could be so disarming. No matter how much he knew about nearly everything else, Sherlock clearly had never personally experienced romance, at least, not the way John Watson romanced. He realized that Sherlock was absolutely perfect for someone like him, they fit together perfectly, all their odd ways working in strange harmony with each other. Sherlock might feel John tolerant of idiosyncrasies but only because he had them too. He wanted to draw this out a bit, and Sherlock understood. Silent conversation achieved and both men relaxed, John still sitting astride Sherlock’s knees as if he’d sat so forever. “Your mother wants to know if we wish to host Christmas dinner.”

Did she? She hadn’t said to John, “You two been talking?”

Sherlock smiled, “She asked when I was calling about them staying at Mrs. Turner’s. Your parents are very easy to speak to. I said yes.”

John rolled his eyes and Sherlock laughed, “How are we supposed to get Christmas dinner together on such short notice?”

“Mrs. Hudson has a turkey defrosting for us in her kitchen, and she’s letting me use her flat to do most of the cooking. You’ll need to do the sides up here because of oven space but there’s no reason we can’t manage if we work together.”

John was so moved. _Sherlock had pre-arranged so many things!_ “Well how can I say no?” _Why would he want to? Now John was eager to show off their home, eager to let his family see how he lived with Sherlock, how happy their home was_.  Sherlock’s parents were in France this year so John didn’t have to worry about entertaining them but Mycroft could come, he was definitely still in town. “We can invite some others over to enjoy the feast.”

That’s what they did. Even though it was late they managed to call Molly Hooper and Greg Lestrade, the only other two people they both agreed on, and convinced them to come to Christmas dinner. Molly was very pleased to receive an invite. Her latest romance had tanked spectacularly, and she needed the distraction. Lestrade hadn’t bothered dating again after his most recent divorce and likely would have spent the entire day at the Yard catching up with paperwork.

Calls made John gave Sherlock another firm, but not heated kiss, delivered his new boyfriend to his bedroom door and bade him goodnight. Sherlock was smiling, and seemed very content, as content as John felt. Everything was blissfully good and tomorrow would be such a busy day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had every intention of posting on Christmas Day and Boxing day but fell ill, so bad timing there. I'm kind of back on my feet and writing once more.


	2. The Meal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock are now a proper couple, and plan to enjoy a lovely meal with the family.

First thing in the morning, right after tea, toast, and a few more almost-innocent kisses, they exchanged presents. Sherlock received a new removable hard-drive for his laptop upon which to store his volumes of data and evidence, and John received a brand new lab-coat to wear at work. It looked like every other lab coat except that it had his name embroidered to the pockets and was made of a much higher thread count of soft cotton that elevated it from practical clothing to something approaching art. Both men were very satisfied.

Mrs. Hudson got Sherlock set up downstairs, eyeing his love-bite and tittering in a pleased sort of way, before John escorted her to the train station. She was spending the week with her family, and kissed the doctor robustly on the cheek before saying farewell. Sherlock wouldn’t let him into Mrs. Hudson’s flat. “ _I’m_ doing this part John! I want it to be a surprise. Don’t worry, I did my research.” Apparently John wasn’t allowed to look but Sherlock was allowed to come upstairs time and time again to oversee everything John was doing, which admittedly wasn’t much.

After a quick call for reinforcements Mum, dad, Harry, and Clara all showed up, all bearing bags of food which they brought to upstairs. John was ecstatic. Mum was loads of fun to cook with and while Sherlock still wouldn’t let anyone into Mrs. Hudson’s flat he did manage to come up for frequent visits, even if they only lasted a minute or two, once or twice merely to put his arm around John for a moment, and nuzzle his hair. It thrilled John every time, and he didn’t care a whit about the faces Harry made, and Sherlock was more than a little smug whenever anyone was caught looking at his brilliantly colored mark. John privately admitted that it was rather fetching.

There were weird smells coming from downstairs, and John had heard the front door open and close more than once as Sherlock called in various favors from the wide range of people he knew, all of whom apparently had nothing better to do than drop by with things for Baker Street’s mad scientist. John worried momentarily over what Sherlock could do to a full sized turkey and still consider it edible before deciding to put it out of his mind. Instead he made extra everything else, pulling out his laptop and getting Clara to seek out strange new ways to serve the same old things, and it became a game. “Should we check on him?” wondered dad, staring at the door.

“No, he’s alright. As long as the fire alarm doesn’t go off we should be good.” John had no idea what Sherlock was up to but he was happy, occupied, and in one spot so the doctor was content.

Owen showed up the same time Greg did, both men chatting their way up the stairs. Though he didn’t speak directly to John it seemed that his cousin had regained his good humor, flirting with the DI cautiously. John saw a bit of surprise in Lestrade’s face, but also interest. Soon the men were discussing the differences in how they played rugby, laughed and good-naturedly teasing one another over drinks and various vegetables that they were peeling and slicing. It wasn’t until Mycroft showed up that things became awkward.

If John hadn’t been looking directly at Sherlock’s brother as he walked into their flat, he never would have known. Mycroft’s face was a picture of dismay and something approaching heartbreak as he took in the sight of Lestrade patting Owen on the leg after delivering a ribald joke, and Owen’s warm appreciative smile. _Oh my, so Mycroft had a thing for certain silver-haired detective inspectors! If only Sherlock had been there to enjoy that tidbit!_

Coolly Mycroft turned his attentions to Molly. She was folding napkins into various fanciful shapes, and Sherlock’s brother simply joined her efforts without comment, calmly taking each snowy white sheet and creating perfect creases. The pathologist stuttered and blushed, but Mycroft was smooth and reassuring, flattering the young woman with her endurance regarding Sherlock’s endless demands, and her many achievements within her department. John hadn’t heard of most of them, and even Molly was surprised that Mycroft was aware. Mum and Clara made a huge fuss over her, and John chuckled softly as he witnessed Harry’s jealous frown, except that Clara kept coming over and giving her little kisses, and treating Molly like she was a sister, and not anything else. Mycroft kept being charming, and soon it was Greg who was losing the thread of his conversation with Owen, and throwing confused glances toward the tall ginger diplomat who was studiously ignoring the DI. _So, Greg had a thing back._ John kept his chuckle to himself.

Sherlock came up, “John, I need shears.” _Shears? What was Sherlock doing? Dissecting the turkey before he brought it up? It should have been cooked by now!_ Biting his questions back John rummaged around the kitchen drawer until he found the heavy duty shears he’d purchased specifically for kitchen use. Sherlock wasn’t allowed to use it for experiments.

Sherlock paused long enough for everyone to see his love-bite yet again, Mycroft giving an impatient huff and rolling his eyes, before the detective gave John a kiss and went back to Mrs. Hudson’s flat with the shears. He came up ten minutes later, “I need toothpicks, the wooden ones, not plastic.” Toothpicks? For turkey? What in the world was Sherlock doing?” Sherlock went away and came back only five minutes later. “John, I need to use the cleaver. The shears aren’t doing what I need them to do.”

It took John a moment or two to dig their cleaver out, handing it over without speaking any of the questions that were bursting to get out. Mum on the other hand, “Sherlock dear, I don’t mind giving you a hand. John can watch things up here.” She sounded a bit nervous, and her hand fluttered towards him pleadingly.

“I’m quite alright Mother Watson,” Mum blushed and preened a bit at her new title, “I really would prefer this to be a surprise for the entire family.”

“Well if you insist dear.” She patted her silvery curls and smiled encouraging up at the tall man, “Don’t hesitate to ask though, that’s what family is for.”

John was missing his mad scientist a bit, and sighed as Sherlock turned to leave again. Sherlock turned right back around and looked solemnly at the doctor, “I’m very nearly ready John. I will text you as soon as I am prepared.”

“Okay sweetheart, we’re nearly ready up here.” Sherlock’s face took on another charming hue of pink as John used an endearment in front of everyone. It felt nice being able to do so, and Sherlock’s reaction guaranteed that John would keep doing so no matter where they were.

Their flat was a bit bare of decorations, but rich in happiness, so John helped his mother and sister-in-law choose the most capacious of Sherlock’s beakers to serve gravy in, found an old take-away platter to lay out other edibles on, and texted Sherlock about the need for several plates from Mrs. Hudson’s cupboards which Sherlock brought up, “Nearly done John, just a few minutes.”

“Can I help in here?” Owen was standing beside Clara, looking over the table with interest, “Greg and I are looking for another project.”

Sherlock didn’t even look at Owen, snubbing John’s cousin so hard that the room actually felt a degree or two colder. John smiled to himself again and handed the now expressionless man a small pile of finger foods to arrange on a platter. “Five more minutes John, then I’m coming up. Clear the table.”

John bit his lip because Sherlock pinched his bum on his way out of the kitchen. Mum giggled. “Five minutes everyone!” he called out instead.

The bustle in the flat picked up pace, everyone finishing up their respective projects, Dad going about making sure everyone had something to drink, and mum directing placement of platters and dishes along the table, “We’ll have to eat casually, but that’s alright.” No one seemed to mind, everyone claiming seats moving about, readying themselves for Sherlock’s grand entrance.

They heard his footsteps coming up the stairs. John hurried to the door, pulling it open just as Sherlock got to the top step. John’s jaw dropped, his mouth hanging over in amazement. Sherlock had managed to make the most unique roast turkey he’d ever seen. Sherlock was smiling proudly as he walked in carrying a very heavy, and quite broad platter. The turkey on it was well roasted, but for some strange reason there were strips of streaky bacon pinned across it. That was the least odd thing about it! “Sherlock, is that an octopus? What are those… _things_ ….hanging down?”

Mum screamed and Harry clung to Clara. Even Greg stepped back, completely startled, but Mycroft merely sighed in a put-upon sort of way and moved further into the room, and away from Sherlock. Sherlock came in and set his creation down in the center of the already laden kitchen table, several items being hastily rescued by dad and Owen. “Japanese spider crab.” Sherlock sighed and sounded disappointed, “I couldn’t find a very large specimen, this one is only about two meters, but I suppose for a party our size it will be adequate. I hope you have lots of garlic butter prepared.” _Lots? Try none!_ John had no idea he’d need any, not for Christmas dinner. Sherlock looked around and didn’t see any but merely waved a hand, “I’ll whip some up, it’s not a problem. Well, go on everyone, help yourself. I don’t think we need to be formal, do we?”

Everyone was staring at the apparition on the table. Sherlock had stuffed the turkey with an octopus, the tentacles pushing out of the cavity in an almost obscene display, and the entire thing rested on a nest made of impossibly long narrow crab legs. John turned his head a bit and saw that the rest of the crab was acting as a buffer between the bird and the platter everything had been carried in on. “Sherlock...?” John didn’t know what to say.

“I saw a picture online of a meal made of three different poultry. Rather boring I thought, so I decided on trying a different version. Everyone’s eaten _traditional_ stuffed turkeys for far too long. _Boring boring boring!_ I don’t care for duck, and just using a chicken would have looked odd. I called a contact of mine who happened to be able to get the crab, and knew someone who could obtain the octopus, and there you have it. Christmas dinner! It did take a lot of boiling to get it all done, and I eventually had to resort to steaming the legs because none of Mrs. Hudson’s pots were large enough, but enough of that. Let’s eat!” Clearly Sherlock was excited, rummaging around the kitchen drawer until he produced John’s favorite knife, “You do the honors John.”

How could John say no, or anything at all? Sherlock looked so happy, so fulfilled, so…John’s shoulders squared. _Sherlock had never cooked a turkey before but this one was roasted to golden perfection. Yes, the stuffing was very…unusual…but on the other hand Sherlock was smiling, being friendly, hospitable, and he looked so very proud of what he’d created John would never say a word against it. He’d even make sure everyone got a bit of everything_. Using a pair of tongs to capture a tentacle John sliced a section off and lay it on Owen’s plate. The piece rolled a bit, and two suckers were now facing upward. “For the guest who traveled the furthest to join us.” announced John. He sliced a bit of turkey off, and broke off a section of crab leg to lay on the plate, “There you are cousin! Enjoy.”

Owen was staring down at his meal with mixture of horror and fascination. _Scientists. They were all the same_. John shook his head and began to serve everyone else. While he carved, Sherlock made batch of garlic butter. Mum took over dishing out of veg and other sides, and soon everyone was perched everywhere they could fit, plates resting on knees as everyone ate. There was polite chatter as people discussed the unusual meal. Carrots had been sliced into flower petal shapes, and tomatoes sported tiny carved faces, the Brussel sprouts had been rolled in bacon crumbs, and everyone laughed as they realized that not one bit of their meal was ordinary. All of it was delicious.

Due to the limited seating Owen ended up sitting right next to Molly, and very soon both of them were engaged in a very intense conversation. Greg sat there not-quite glaring at John’s cousin but still interjecting comments here and there that Molly answered with a smile. Her cheeks were pink with delight at all the attention she was receiving because Mycroft occasionally had complimentary things to add to the discussion, not addressing Lestrade’s points at all, but still participating. Sherlock was sitting in his chair and despite how it made John’s cheek flame up he had made the good doctor sit on his bony knees, John angled to the side so Sherlock’s plate wasn’t being knocked around.

It was loud, a bit messy, a tiny bit tense, but overall a marvelous meal. When everyone finished their portions there wasn’t a single body that wasn’t filled to bursting with the monstrous meal. “I need a walk.” groaned Lestrade theatrically, “I haven’t eaten this much in years.”

“The park isn’t terribly far. They have displays on this time of year.” Even Sherlock was shifting around uncomfortably. He’d eaten more dinner than John had witnessed him consume in months. He got off of Sherlock’s lap, took his plate, and began clearing away everything. Mum of course bustled in to attempt to help but surprisingly Sherlock shooed her away, “John and I can manage Mother Watson, please, go relax.” John smiled to himself because Sherlock looked so serious as he helped clean the kitchen. They listened to people laugh and talk in the front room while they worked, “I’ve already cleaned up Mrs. Hudson’s. I did it as I went along, I knew I wasn’t likely to return there after we ate.”

It took a bit of time but eventually everything was clean and shining. There were far fewer leftovers than John thought there would have been, indeed, the entire turkey and its strange companions had been devoured, and there had been just enough sides to go around to fill everyone up right to the top. Washing up didn’t take forever, and soon enough everyone was sorting out jackets and coats, finding scarves and hats, and getting their boots on to go on a huge group stroll down the streets.

It was absolutely lovely. There were a lot of people out, and the decorations were eye-catching. Sherlock immediately draped his arm around John’s shoulder as if it were something he did every single day, and John heard Lestrade’s surprised curse from behind him, “Myc, are they…”

Mycroft answered softly, “Apparently yesterday. From what I gather Sherlock finally asked John, and he did it right in front of the Watsons.”

“So that’s a real…thing…on Sherlock’s neck? I’d wondered.” Greg sounded satisfied and happy.

Mycroft snorted, “Childish.”

Greg simply replied, “ _Your_ skin is as fair as your brother’s.” Both John and Sherlock heard Mycroft’s steps become almost stumbling for a second as Lestrade hit on him.

Owen and Molly were chatting merrily. John didn’t care what his cousin was up to but in a way he was now grateful for his visit. If not for Owen, Sherlock might never have seen how jealous John was of him, and might never have gotten around to asking John to be his. John put his arm around Sherlock’s waist and glanced up. There were two big bright spots of color on the detective’s cheeks and he was struggling to remain impassive looking. John grinned and kept walking. Sherlock’s blushes were delicious.

There was quite the crowd in the park. Despite the cold and the snow that had unexpectedly fallen everyone seemed to be having a marvelous time. A small group of musicians had their hat out and were playing lively music off under a patch of lights, and they stopped to listen. Mum’s giggle was loud as dad swung her around to dance, and with a following laugh Owen caught up Molly and danced her away, her giggles nearly as loud as mum’s. John couldn’t resist and pulled Sherlock toward the group. Sherlock pretended to resist but soon enough they were dancing with everyone else, as more and more pairs joined the joyfulness. It didn’t take very long for a crowd to form and soon the hat was getting full of tips, and the musicians were well-paid to play on.

“John, look.” Sherlock’s voice was soft in his ear, and John looked off beyond the crowd. Mycroft and Lestrade were standing together under string of lights, simply talking to one another. Their bodies were angled together, and Mycroft’s face was very close to Greg’s. “It’s about time. Mycroft has been pining for years.”

“So have you.” teased John. He had no idea if Sherlock had pined or not, though John certainly had, “Wasting away and languishing on the sofa.”

“I did not _languish_!” snapped Sherlock, his face taking on an embarrassed mien, “I was in my mind palace going over cases.”

“You languished.” said John with certainty, unable to keep himself from teasing Sherlock. He so seldom had a chance to get one over his brilliant friend, “You probably have all sorts of Mind Palace files dedicated to me. I bet they’re all labeled too, _John Watson’s bum_ , and _John Watson, how he smells before and after work_.” John loved the blush on Sherlock’s face, “I bet you even have a database on your laptop about me, _John Watson – His Amazing Story_ or something.”

“I didn’t name it that!” cried Sherlock who immediately stopped talking and blushed intensely when he realized he’d given himself away, “Stop it John.”

John was laughing happily, “Go on then, what did you call it?” Confirmation of this detail made John feel a jolt in his midsection. That Sherlock Holmes, _genius_ , actually dedicated time and effort to remember things about him, John Watson – _not genius_ , made him feel incredible.

Sherlock pressed his lips together for a moment, “ _Conductor of Light_. That’s what I call it. It’s not just a file or two either. You are an entire wing.”

John has been teasing but now he was entirely moved, “Really Sherlock?” He smiled up into his best friend’s face, “That’s seriously how you think of me?”

Sherlock looked cross now, “Of course it is John! You know this! How often have you shed light on a situation that I had no ability to understand? How often have you been the key I needed to unlock the mystery? I depend on you. I have for years. Surely you know this?”

John was vaguely aware of it but hadn’t ever considered _how_ Sherlock valued him. Clearly he must though because they were dating now, and Sherlock had said some very lovely things to John right in front of his family. John felt like a bit of an idiot, “I guess I didn’t really think.”

“No you don’t, but that’s why you have me.” _Pompous git!_ Sherlock laughed, leaned down, and kissed John’s forehead softly, “You’re amazing John. I can’t do without you. Perhaps I languished a bit.”

“Drama queen.” said John gruffly, very moved by Sherlock’s words and actions.

“Oh my god it’s the freak and his pet!” _Donovan!_ Both John and Sherlock turned to face the tall woman who was standing beside someone who was noticeably not Anderson.

“Stepping out on your extra-marital affair Sally? Does your date know that you normally only sleep with co-workers, oh, he is a co-worker! New the Met?” Sherlock’s voice was cold, sharp, and filled with anger.

“Shut the fuck up _freak_ , what are you two doing out anyway? Tonight is for normal people, not psychopaths and their pathetic followers. Are you on a case? Is that why Watson is letting you put your hands all over him?”

“John, who is this…lady?” Mum was standing right beside John now, staring at Sally with eyes that were as cold as Sherlock’s, “She’s rather rude. We should call the police.”

“She _is_ the police. This is Sargent Sally Donovan. She works with Lestrade.” John found that his voice was rough with anger _. One night! All he wanted was one night with his new boyfriend and family to enjoy the holiday atmosphere_.

Donovan looked at mum, “Listen, if you’ve hired the freak and his boy-toy to help you with your problems you should get out while you can. The tall one is insane and the small one isn’t any better.” Donovan sounded waspish and mean, “Seriously, they aren’t worth the money you’re wasting.”

Mum drew herself up to her full height, and dad was now standing beside her, as was Harry, Clara, and to John’s surprise, Owen. All of them were glaring at the Sargent balefully. “Young lady, John is _my son_. My _only_ son. We are on a family outing with his long-term partner, Sherlock, with whom you are clearly already acquainted.”

Donovan was taken aback, and stared down at John, “You’re _dating_ the freak? What the fucking hell Watson? Is this a holiday prank he’s playing on you? _He’s got no heart_. He doesn’t have feelings, and even if he did, why would he have them for you?”

Dad marched away and came back seconds later, his hand clamped around Lestrade’s arm, nearly dragging the DI along with him as Mycroft walked calmly behind them, “This woman came out of nowhere using vile language and saying the most awful things to my son, right in front of my wife! Arrest her!”

“Sally! What are you doing here?” demanded Lestrade angrily, “I thought you were out of the city for the hols.”

“I changed my mind.” Sally didn’t look as sure of herself now that her boss was right in front of her, “Plans changed unexpectedly.”

Sherlock snorted, “Anderson _didn’t_ leave his wife…again. What a surprise.”

“Shut the fuck up freak!” Sally’s tone was less than dulcet and her date edged away from her. He seemed ordinary enough, and bore an uncomfortable resemblance to Anderson. John snorted. _Well, everyone had a type_. “You’ve probably drugged John… _again_!”

Sherlock paled and actually stepped back as if she’d physically struck him. Now John was shouting. _How had she known this?_ “You despicable cow! Why don’t you fuck right off Sally Donovan and go back to wallowing in misery alone! I’m sick to death of your constant personal attacks! Right from the day we met you’ve been on and on about Sherlock. What about you? You’re a lowlife. You’ve got nothing better to do with your time but have sex with your married coworkers and use your legitimate contacts to spy on your affiliates.” John turned to the man Sally had arrived with, “Run mate. Run as far from this insane bitch as you can. _Mine_ is crazy but this one…this one is batshit.”

There was no hesitation. The man turned on his heel and walked away as quickly as he could without running outright. Mum was still glaring at Donovan, “Detective Inspector, am I correct in understanding that this…person…is in your employ?”

Lestrade sighed gustily, “Donovan. Go home. You’ve created enough of a situation.”

“But sir!” Donovan had the temerity to continue protesting.

Sherlock visibly snapped, stepping forward to look down at her, “Sally Donovan. Anderson will never leave his wife despite your many sexual favors to him, nor will he father the children you mistakenly feel you are running out of time to have. Your continual attempts to bolster your self-esteem by tearing down those around you is the very thing that prevents you from making meaningful contact with anyone worthwhile, leaving you stuck with serial philanderers like _Anderson_ , who you should know is _also_ having an affair with two other female officers, and one male pathologist, an associate of Dr. Hooper! If you ever dare suggest that I treat John Watson with anything less than…”

“Than what, you freak? _Respect?_ You ditch him all the time! You run experiments on him constantly! This fiasco I see in front of me is likely an experiment! What, are you trying to fool people into thinking you actually have feelings for him? I bet you have a spreadsheet all ready to record his reactions, poor pathetic fool that he is!” Now Donovan was nearly screaming at Sherlock who wasted no time launching his own diatribe, his insults so polysyllabic that it was likely only Mycroft even understood what he was calling the Sargent. Both of them stood nose to nose, their words so loud that they overwhelmed the musicians who slowly stopped playing until there was nothing but the sounds of insults flying through the air. “You don’t feel _feelings_ you freak! You’re incapable.” Donovan was nearly spitting now.

“I love John! I don’t need _your_ approval or acceptance of my feelings in order to validate them! Go away Donovan. I’m sure all the families around us thank you for ruining their lovely outings with your uncalled for shrewishness and hatred.”

Donovan seemed to come to her senses now. She stared around her at all the shocked faces, the small families, and teary-eyed children, many who were on the verge of weeping, and then took in Lestrade’s extremely disapproving countenance. “Sargent Donovan. I am absolutely _disgusted_ with your display. You had no right whatever to walk yourself over here and do what you just did. You will leave this instant. If you were on the job right now I’d have you up on charges, and as it stands the Watsons have every right to call you in.”

“Sherlock dear, you _work_ with this individual.” Mum’s voice was warm and gentle. John saw that Sherlock’s hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and that the man looked pale, tiny hints of distress and upset showing in his eyes and the set of his mouth. “I’m very impressed my dear, if I were you I would have kicked her right in the arse by now.” John really tried not to giggle, he really did. Mum had a fierce temper, all Watson’s tread carefully around her. “Young lady, you are a disappointing example for young people everywhere. You are a bully, which means you are weak inside yourself and need use your other strengths to humiliate and abuse those you feel are unworthy, and my dear, eventually everyone will seem unworthy because all you see is the worst of people when _you of all_ should be attempting to see only the best.” Mum managed to look down her nose at Sally even though the Sargent was several inches taller, “I expect a hand-written apology to be sent to our Sherlock as soon as possible. If you choose to not send one in a reasonable amount of time, then I will definitely be seeing about pressing charges against you. Off you go young lady, and try to do better.”

Donovan looked humiliated as well as furious. Turning away slowly she shook out her hands and walked carefully away, “Sorry for that.” Lestrade looked chagrined, “She and Sherlock have never gotten on.”

“She warned me away from Sherlock the day we met.” John was smiling at her retreating back.

“Oh my, that must have been like throwing petrol on the fire.” Dad laughed, “John’s always had a bit of a taste for danger.”

“The first sign of danger he’d be the first in line to run right to it.” Mum sounded so proud, “No one braver than our John.”

“Or as foolish.” grumbled Harry. “He got shot, didn’t he?”

“Many times Harriet, John has been shot many times. It hasn’t slowed him down yet.” John was treated to the sight of Sherlock looking relaxed once again, and a little bit humbled, “Thank you for what you said.”

“Tish tosh Sherlock! I wasn’t about to stand here and let some rude person insult my boys!” Mum was indignant, “What kind of mother does that?”

“Obviously not you, Mother Watson.” John loved the look on Sherlock’s face right then, especially when mum gave him a big squeeze and patted his arm. “Dance?”

“I’d love to.” The musicians knew when to take a cue and their song picked up where it left off. Soon enough people were dancing all over the place, and John let his mother dance with Sherlock only for a minute before he cut in, “Of course son.”

Dad danced mum away, both of them smiling. Harry and Clara were enjoying themselves, and Molly seemed to be happily occupied with Owen, who seemed charmed with the woman in his arms. Lestrade and Mycroft stood off to the side, standing a little bit closer to one another than casual associates might, and as John watched, Lestrade rolled his eyes and pulled Mycroft off into the crowd to dance. John grinned up into Sherlock’s face, “Happy Christmas Sherlock.”

“Happy Christmas John.” Sherlock leaned down just as John reached up and their mouths met somewhere in the middle.

When their kiss broke off John smiled again, “I love you too, you know that right?” Sherlock’s eyes were huge, disbelieving, and shocked. John kept grinning, “You don’t have to be so surprised, you had to have known.”

Sherlock kept dancing but he was silent for a moment, “I’d hoped. I _wasn’t_ sure. Of course, this wasn’t exactly how I had planned to tell you.”

“What, screaming it out to Sally Donovan in the middle of a crowd of strangers?” Sherlock blushed again and looked away for a second, but John grabbed his chin and made him look at him again, “Seems like our style though, you know, _not_ normal.”

They danced, and everyone around them seemed happy. “John?”

“Yes love?”

“Can we have sex?” Sherlock looked perfectly serious.

“What, right here?”

“Of course not. At home. Tonight.”

John blinked for a second. There wasn’t really a reason to say no and it was very like Sherlock simply to ask bluntly for something he wanted, “I’d love to.” _Sex with Sherlock? Yes please!_ “Now?”

“Indeed.”

Extracting a promise from Mycroft to see everyone back to Mrs. Turner’s both men twined their fingers together and took off down the street at a brisk walk. This moment had been years in the making. There wasn’t any more time to waste.


	3. At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has made a very reasonable request and John is completely supportive of it.

221 B Baker Street was very nearly silent. Sherlock had swept into the building and up the stairs with John hot on his heels. As soon as they were safely locked in John wasted no time pulling Sherlock into his arms, their bodies pressed together, their mouths almost but not quite touching. John’s eyes were already half-lidded, and he breathed carefully, reigning himself in even though lust and desire raged through him. He felt as eager as any teenage boy about to embark on his first sexual escapade, not nervous exactly, but not entirely sure of himself either. Sherlock was a man, and despite the fact that John really was bisexual, Sherlock wasn’t wrong about the fact that John had never even _tried_ to be with someone who wasn’t a woman. That didn’t seem to matter because Sherlock felt right against his body, the hardness leanness of him felt natural and good, and eagerly John set about exploring.

Sherlock wasn’t exactly reticent. He was busy undoing the buttons on John’s coat, pushing it away, fumbling with his own, and accidentally kicking John in the shin in his eagerness to rid himself of shoes, and even his socks. “I’ve never…” he began, his deep voice shaky but excited.

“I know.” John kissed him, “That’s gorgeous.”

Sherlock broke the kiss, “What? I’m not _exactly_ virginal…well theoretically yes, but…”

“Yes, you know all about sex. I bet you have all kinds of things in that head of yours. You’ve never done it though, none of it, right?” John pressed hard kisses along Sherlock’s jaw, against his throat, “Tell me Sherlock, have you ever let anyone do things with you? Touch you? Make you feel good?”

“Never John…I’ve gotten offers, attempted seductions, _games_. For the Work. That’s it. I swear.” John allowed his hands to make their way up Sherlock’s ribs, around to his back, “I’ve never wanted anyone John.”

“But you want me?” John needed to hear it.

“Yes John, oh gods yes. John, please. I want you naked. I want…I want…” Sherlock couldn’t talk now because John’s mouth was on his. He opened for John, and their tongues swirled together. Sherlock was delicious, sweet and addictive. Both of them groaned and the flurry of activity picked up pace. Sherlock seemed weak-limbed and John felt a surge of lust well up when he realized he was the one having this effect on Sherlock. He was the one making this otherwise dispassionate man moan, grind against him, to flush until his cheeks, ears, and neck took on a pinkish hue, and tear at John’s clothing like he couldn’t quite remember how buttons worked, or that John’s jumper would need to be pulled off and not clawed through. Finally, Sherlock pushed John against the hallway wall right outside his bedroom door. His gaze was hot, intense, and John felt as if he were truly naked as Sherlock looked him over, “I want everything from you John. I want to know everything you are capable of doing to me. I want to learn everything I am capable of doing to you. I need to feel that you are mine, that I am yours, and that we will be this way with only each other, forever.”

John couldn’t imagine what it would be like being with someone if they weren’t Sherlock. He could barely recall what it had been like being with his previous lovers. All he retained were the hazy memories of fleeting pleasure, the mechanics of the acts he’d shared, but John knew right down to his bones that making love to Sherlock eclipse any experience he’d ever had. John had never kissed lips so soft, tasted anyone who was so sweet, felt a body that stirred such desire in him. He felt himself becoming aroused, his need to claim and possess his lover almost overwhelming his self-control, “Take anything you want Sherlock, ask for anything at all. It’s all yours.”

John now found himself crushed almost painfully to the wall, Sherlock’s hips pushing hard against his, thrusting instinctively as he desperately rutted, searching for relief he didn’t know how to find…yet. “John.” Sherlock’s voice was deep and hungry sounding. “Please.”

“Upstairs Sherlock, my room.” Sherlock’s bed was bigger but John had everything they needed in his nightstand. Stumbling together they managed to climb to the bedroom, untucking their shirts and trying to rid themselves of now unwanted clothing. As soon as they were there Sherlock slammed the door shut and nearly pounced on John, knocking him to the bed. Deftly John flipped Sherlock onto his back, somehow getting his buttons and flies undone, and shoved his hand down Sherlock’s pants.

Sherlock’s entire body arched as John made contact. He was hard already, his cock so much larger than John would have thought, and wet at the tip, “Oh fuck yes.” John stroked it firmly, loving the sharp cries that Sherlock released. He pulled his hand out, swirling his fingers over the head while watching Sherlock’s face closely. With a smile John licked each finger, tasting Sherlock on his skin, and loving it, “So good.”

“Fuck.” Sherlock swallowed hard, his eyes nearly black, the color that remained was a thin line. He was as impatient as John had ever seen him, nearly tearing at John’s clothes to encourage him to disrobe. John sat back and nearly ripped off his jumper only to have Sherlock grasp the front of his button-down and yank it open, buttons flying all over, “John.” moaning Sherlock leaned in and licked straight up from the center of John’s chest, up his throat and continued on until he got to John’s mouth.

“Slow down.” groaned John half-heartedly. _He didn’t want to slow down! He wanted to spread Sherlock out, dive in, and never leave_. “No need to rush.”

Sherlock was mumbling against John’s neck now, his lips sliding along John’s skin, “Waited too long already. _Years_. I want to fuck.”

John’s vision whited out again. Sherlock swore so rarely, and John had never been asked for sex so blatantly before. Usually there was flirtations, teasing, innuendo, “You want to…”

“I want to _fuck_. I want to feel you inside of me. I want to be inside of you. I want for us to fuck each other every single way we can manage until we can’t move anymore, and we smell like one another, and anyone who sees us just knows that you and I are together. I want to taste you cock, have your mouth on mine, I want to touch you everywhere, memorize everything about you, hear the sounds you make, and see what sounds you make me make. I want it all.”

“Oh my…” words failed John.

“Ever since you moved in John, I’ve wanted you. It wasn’t until you were here that I even masturbated regularly, and it’s not enough, not nearly enough. I want _your_ hands on me, I want to feel your body on mine, I want so _much,_ John.” Sherlock bit John’s earlobe and ran his hands down John’s back, moving lower until he was cupping John’s buttocks, “I’ve waited so long to have you, to be had.”

“Don’t need to wait,” murmured John, his hands equally busy. He’d ached for Sherlock, wondered for so long if they would ever get to this point, and now here they were. It really _was_ Christmas and John couldn’t wait another moment. “You can have whatever you want, just tell me, and we’ll do it.”

Sherlock’s face was flushed again, and he bit his lip for a moment, “I...would...would you use your mouth?”

John grinned wickedly, “Oh yes,” he replied with no small amount of heat, “I’d love to.” What would it be like to pleasure Sherlock like that? John always loved it when women went down on him, because even the worst head was still pretty damn good. He at least had the advantage of knowing what he liked, and what the whole business was about, even if he’d never done it. His mouth watered, and John hurried Sherlock out of the last of his clothes. “I can’t wait to learn you.”

Sherlock was splayed out on John’s bed, his long pale body sprawled everywhere, his cock rearing up eagerly. The doctor had witnessed much of Sherlock’s bare body over the years but all those fleeting glimpses were nothing compared to the fully unwrapped present that was presented to him now. Sherlock was lithe, slim, still curvaceous in all the right places, his body hair sparse, and he looked like a treat. He slid his hands everywhere he could reach and Sherlock sighed and twisted beneath him. Reaching down to the shamelessly jutting portion of that same body, John grasped the base of it and grinned up at Sherlock who was breathing hard, “It’s big, much bigger than mine.”

“I don’t care who’s is bigger, just suck me.” demanded Sherlock. His hands were already on John’s head, urging him downward anxiously.

“Bossy.” John bent his head and leaned in, raising his gaze until he was staring back into Sherlock’s eyes, “This is what you want?” he licked the tip and Sherlock’s whole body jerked, “For me to put that…here?” John swirled his tongue over the head and Sherlock made a high-whining sound, “I’ve never tasted someone’s cock, delicious.” It truly was. He didn’t know what he’d expected. John loved going down on women, loved their flavor, their wetness, the folds and hidden secrets. Sherlock’s cock was a thick pillar, lightly veined, with a head that was pointed and only lightly flared. It pushed his mouth open obscenely, and it felt marvelous.

“John!” moaned Sherlock, his head falling back, “Amazing. Amazing.” His eyes were closed and his hips rocked upward faintly. John tried to go slowly but sooner than he imagined himself capable he was taking in as much as he could, gagging a little when he was too enthusiastic, but the way Sherlock writhed, and the deep sensuous moans he made, well, his reactions were aphrodisiacs to John, spurring his own lust into more reckless levels.

When he saw that Sherlock was rising fast, and racing toward completion John stopped. Despite the displeased sounds his lover made John kissed his way back up Sherlock’s body, pausing the lick over his nipples until they were hard little peaks, and continued upward until he was at Sherlock’s mouth. John delivered a nearly savage kiss before pulling back, “I’m going to get you ready for sex, alright? I need to prepare you.”

Sherlock looked dazed but still eager, “Do you want me on my stomach?” When John nodded Sherlock gracefully turned himself over, spreading his thighs apart, and hugging John’s pillow to his chest, “Like this?”

John had never experienced desire this hot before, he burned with it. Sherlock’s flesh was enticing, available, willing. His perfectly shaped arse was now in his hands and John squeezed and rubbed it, astonished that he was able to do this, that Sherlock wanted him to do this. “Perfect.” John’s voice was broken, rough. He found that he was leaning forward, pulling those generous cheeks apart, and burying his face between them, “Perfect.” he mumbled, his mouth and tongue already busy exploring. “I don’t want to go too quickly.”

“Oh god John, don’t make me wait! I’ve waited for so long already. Please!” Sherlock’s voice was desperate, and he rocked his hips up and back, spreading his knees wider to display himself openly, “I need this. I need _you_. Please John, for the love of everything we hold dear, just take me!”

John blanked out again for a minute or two, and when he came back to himself he found he was buried between Sherlock’s cheeks again, his tongue lapping and probing, teasing its way inward while Sherlock trembled and shook. It was exciting, and wonderful, curious, and so different than anything else he’d ever done with a lover. This was new to both of them, and John realized that he was so turned on that his cock ached, and even his hips felt tense.

Sherlock moved suddenly, his long arm feeling around blindly until he found John’s nightstand. With disturbing ease, he located John’s lube, and nearly threw it at him, “Have you been in my drawers?” demanded John with a laugh.

“Of course John, just not the way I’d prefer. In fact…” Sherlock flipped back over and by dint of hand gestures, tugging, and pulling he got John to straddle his chest, “Let me in John.”

John heard himself growl. It was animalistic, and his back arched as he felt Sherlock’s fingers trail between his crease, stopping briefly over his anus, “Fuck…yeah…yes. Here.” John sat up a bit and twisted just enough to be able to pour some lube onto Sherlock’s demanding fingers. Even as he repositioned himself, pulling Sherlock’s thighs wide, and drizzling lube onto his own fingers, John felt Sherlock begin to touch him. It felt strange to be caressed so meaningfully, this was no clinical exam. Sherlock was learning how to open him, just as John was learning to open Sherlock, and together each man began to press and swirl, slowly pushing fingertips deeper, each man sighing and urging their lover to continue. It was wordless now, hot, passionate, dizzyingly arousing. Sherlock’s cock was right there, so John made sure to pay it some attention, but not too much. Judging by Sherlock’s moans, the detective was riding the close edge of orgasm already. It thrilled John to know he was causing Sherlock to feel that way. John re-arranged himself so his arms were under Sherlock’s hips a bit so his fingers could pull him open, push in deeper, stretch him wider, and felt as Sherlock entered him in a very similar manner.

John loved how hungry Sherlock’s body was, how it seemed to seek to take John’s fingers in eagerly, yielding bit at a time until he was thrusting two in easily. He felt Sherlock following his lead, and it felt incredible to be touched like this. Any sense of oddness seemed to be entirely absent as he hovered over Sherlock’s torso. There was no place he’d rather be than right there, learning how to make love to his very best friend, his _every-way-possible_ partner. It felt incredible to be almost invaded by those questing fingers, how Sherlock clearly examined every millimeter of John’s anatomy, and John wondered how much of Sherlock’s mind palace was dedicated to the memorization and storage of this experience. John knew he’d never forget it.

Sherlock grasped John’s hips, pulling his arse straight back until John was almost sitting on Sherlock’s face. John couldn’t help gasping as Sherlock’s tongue pushed into him. Hands slid from his hips to spread across his behind, pulling him wider, and soon he was moaning and writhing nearly as much as Sherlock was. It was overwhelming, astonishing, mind-bending, and life-changing. They were readying themselves for an act that would permanently altered their relationship with one another, and the only question remaining was who got to bottom first.

It turned out to be Sherlock. Both of them were nearly wild with lust by the time they reached the state of mutual three-fingered readiness. John impaled himself over and over again onto Sherlock’s talented digits, and sank his own repeatedly into the lushness of Sherlock’s arse. “Please John!” Sherlock was begging, his hips riding even harder than John’s, “I need you!”

John was once again amazed to experience yet a higher level of arousal. Sherlock was making him positively insane with lust. Turning around, John pushed Sherlock’s thighs wide open, positioned his cock at Sherlock’s entrance, and held himself still, “I love you Sherlock.”

“John.” Sherlock’s hands were trembling but clutching John’s shoulders now, his knees pulled toward his shoulders as he looked down to where their bodies now met, “My beautiful John.” John pushed forward with deliberation. He felt the head of his cock as it breeched his lover for the first time, noting the equal measure of discomfort and delight on Sherlock’s face. He entered him like he was always mean to be there, like he’d waited his entire life to make love to Sherlock and Sherlock alone. One slow thrust became two, two became three, an eventually John was twisting his hips, rotating in small circles, his motions careful. He tested each move, as observant as Sherlock had ever been as he began to understand what brought his partner the most pleasure.

Sherlock responded best in the beginning to the level of caution John demonstrated, showing him how he could trust John not to hurt him, or rush to finish himself. Each time Sherlock moaned John felt triumphant. He was a good and considerate lover, and his own enjoyment was directly linked to the degree of bliss his bedmate was experiencing. John was enjoying himself very, very much. Sherlock’s eyes closed often but he kept re-opening them to look down, watching as John seated himself over and over again. John searched for and found the best angle to stimulate Sherlock’s prostate, and the audible appreciation he received was very gratifying indeed. His lover was uninhibited, vocal, and almost unbearably arousing.

John knew he wasn’t going to last, but Sherlock was eager, and even though the good doctor attempted to slow down, or at the very least pull out, the detective would not permit it. Instead Sherlock held John tightly and worked his own narrow hips deliberately, encouraging John to lose control and spill himself deep inside his body. It was outrageously good, better than any orgasm he’d ever had before. His entire body was a part of it, it was more than just his penis, it was every little bit of him inside and out that was wracked with pleasure. Sherlock looked elated as John came, one hand on John’s cheek as he gasped and shook, his hips snapping forward to deliver his seed, the other on John’s behind to keep him as close as possible.

John found himself being manhandled now. Sherlock pulled himself off of John, and got John to lay his heaving body face down. Sherlock then knelt behind John, drizzled on more lube and used his fingers to make sure John was still ready for him, and to spread the slick fluid everywhere it was needed. A bit too eagerly he positioned himself and began to push inward. He was so big, so hard, it felt as if a shaft of stone was invading John’s inner being. The orgasm he’d just had made his body so much more receptive, and even though Sherlock felt almost too big to accept, John found that he could, and was indeed allowing Sherlock to penetrate him. “No one else will ever have you like this John, you’re mine.” Sherlock’s kiss was fierce, “You’re the only one I love, the only one I will ever love, just you John.”

Sherlock was whimpering, high-pitched pained noises that told John that his lover was experiencing levels of pleasure he didn’t know how to deal with. Sherlock moved awkwardly, his body trembling as he entered John. He was obviously trying to be gentle but this was his first time, and he didn’t have the discipline he normally required over his transport to keep himself from rushing too much. John yelped once or twice, and shakily Sherlock paused until John nodded, and allowed him to continue. It was painful and pleasurable at the same time, but soon enough all the pain melted away and there was just pleasure. Soon both of them were gasping, and John was astounded to find that his cock was miraculously hard again. He felt like a young man again and when Sherlock reached around to fondle him both of them grew louder still.

Sherlock’s hand wrapped around him, tugging and rubbing, his large thumb sweeping over the head. “Good?” he panted and John nodded, unable to say a word. He managed to get onto his knees a bit and pushed back to meet Sherlock’s thrusts. The longer they went on the better it was feeling, and now John wondered how he’d managed to exist all this time without Sherlock inside him, how he’d ever felt stable without that steel hard shaft deep within him.

John heard himself making the sorts of sounds he’d read about but never once felt compelled to make during his many one-offs or brief relationships, the grunts, the moans, the broken cries for more as he begged Sherlock to take him, to use him, to do anything he wanted. John wanted to feel Sherlock come inside him, and after a long time he felt Sherlock’s body grow tense. The detective’s hands were curled into fists and he was braced on the bed, his hips driving down and inward, both of them nearly bouncing back up again after every shove forward. John’s bed banged against the wall, and the smell of sex filled the room, their desire for one another being almost roughly shared as Sherlock’s hips began to snap forward instinctively as he chased his orgasm.

Sherlock was kneeling now, his hands on John’s hips and bottom, his fingers long enough that his thumbs were stroking the edge of John’s rim as Sherlock’s cock plunged inward. He was moving fast now, furiously hammering inward. John thrust his hand down and took his own shaft in hand, working to match Sherlock’s pace. He felt a rousingly hard grip and suddenly Sherlock shoved himself in to the hilt, burying himself nearly down to his balls inside John and he twitched. “I’m coming. Oh god I’m coming. John, _oh god oh god oh god oh oh oh oh oh!”_ Sherlock clearly had no control over what he was saying and John felt how he throbbed, felt a small spurt of warmth inside him, felt Sherlock jerking in tiny increments to prolong his orgasm as John fisted himself. He felt himself peak, he didn’t come a huge amount but the delight he felt was intense, almost bitterly sharp, and his moan was as loud as his lover’s.

They sank into the bedding, sweating, struggling to breath, and trying to let the tremors that made their limbs into jelly subside. When they were no longer gasping like fish out of water Sherlock kissed the back of John’s neck and said, “We’re having sex all the time from now on.” John was laying in the damp spot he had created, and felt Sherlock withdrawing with caution, “So strange, I feel your ejaculate coming out.”

John chuckled wearily at Sherlock’s observation. “That’s going to happen.”

“We didn’t even discuss condoms. I should have said something.”

Perhaps they should have spoken about it. John sighed and remonstrated himself for not taking proper care, “Well, at least we both know we’re clean. We can use them from now on if you want.”

“Perhaps John. It does feel a bit uncomfortable to be…squishy…but not horrible.” John laughed now because _squishy_ was exactly the right word to be using, that’s certainly how he felt. His bottom was well used and very wet with a combination of lube, semen, and a fair amount of perspiration. Sherlock snuggled up to his back and traced his fingers over it, playing with the sweat and simply enjoying the aftermath. “I’m glad it was you John. I can’t imagine anyone I’d ever want to do this with but you. It was perfect, I had no way of knowing how much better my release would be when you were a part of it.”

Sherlock’s words made John feel good. He managed to turn himself about, and found himself being cuddled, that little kisses were being pressed to his forehead, and that Sherlock even licked him a bit, and it seemed thoughtful, “Taking notes?”

“Yes. I’m going to learn so much from being us. It doesn’t need to be about cases. I just want to know all there is to know about _you_ John Watson. You’re the most important person in the world to me, I need to understand everything necessary to make you happy and content for as long as possible. I want to keep you with me, and I don’t want to be the way I used to be, closed off and too proud to admit that I felt anything.”

“I’m glad you asked me to be your boyfriend.” John was smiling and Sherlock kissed his forehead again.

“One day I plan on asking for more than that, but this is enough to begin with. I want to enjoy every way of being with you John. I want to know what every role I can be with you feels like, to understand properly what it means to be yours.”

“ _Every-way-possible_ partners?”

“Exactly.”

John was thrilled with Sherlock’s not-so-subtle clue and began making plans. Maybe he’d be the one to surprise Sherlock with a question, but not tonight. Tonight they were enjoying being boyfriends finally, lovers at long last, and there would be time enough to be other things together. After drowsing for a while they got out of bed and padded naked down to the loo where they showered together. Sherlock made sure John was very clean, using his long fingers to inspect John all over, “You don’t need to keep your fingers up my bum.”

“No, but I like know I have permission to do so, at least while we’re showering.” said Sherlock reasonably. John returned the favor, and when they finally pronounced each other clean enough they were both giggling and teasing one another, too tired for another round, but so grateful to be at ease with one another, “Sleep in my room. We’ll clean your bed tomorrow.”

“Alright.” and that’s what they did. They turned the heat up in Sherlock’s bedroom, climbed under the duvet with their hair still damp, and fell asleep in each other’s arms. The next morning when they woke up Sherlock needed to shower again because his hair had dried flat as a board on one side, but in a tangled nest of curls on the other. John wanted to take a picture but Sherlock wouldn’t let him. Both of them were a bit sore but some pain tablets took care of it, and though they needed to be careful about how they sat it was more than worth it. Once they were presentable again John called his family and everyone went out for a final meal as a group.

It wasn’t too surprising that Molly joined them at the restaurant, her blushing face filled with happiness, and Owen looking like he’d won the lottery. It didn’t take the entire meal before they were surreptitiously holding hands, but neither John nor Sherlock spoiled the budding romance by commenting on it.

Sherlock sent a message to Lestrade telling him he’d only be available for cases if they were an eight or better, but Lestrade texted back saying he was out of town until after the New Year. When Sherlock texted Mycroft he got a nearly identical message in return. Sharing a wry grin John and Sherlock sat back and were quietly pleased that the pair was obviously together and working on becoming boyfriends the way they themselves had finally managed. Perhaps Mycroft had taken Lestrade to France to meet their family. It wouldn’t be too difficult, Greg was part French to begin with and more than once had surprised them by speaking the language, usually to curse at Sherlock or warn him to smarten up. They would be fine.

Mum and dad were both happy and sad because their vacation was over, and it was time to return home. Clara and Harry made Sherlock and John promise to come for a visit sometime soon, and everyone made plans to visit Owen in Canada, which Sherlock kept referring to as _the colonies_. “Molly is coming in the New Year,” announced Owen with a big smile, “I’m going to take her skiing.”

“Excellent Dr. Hooper, you haven’t taken any of you vacation time.” Sherlock sounded approving.

“Well I haven’t really had anywhere to go. I suppose I do now.” Molly’s blush was charming, and the sparkle in her eyes really suited her. The way Owen kept looking at her as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing was very gratifying as well. John was pleased that his cousin seemed to now only have eyes for a particular someone, especially someone who _wasn’t_ Sherlock.

“We’ll look after Toby for you. John’s not fond of cats but we’ll manage in the short term.” Sherlock sounded sage and wise but John’s eyes were rolling.

“I’ve never said I wasn’t fond of cats! You’re only saying that because of that time that client’s cat clawed my hand. Swearing at one cat doesn’t mean I don’t like them!” John turned to Molly, “Toby will be welcome. I promise to keep Sherlock from experimenting on him.”

Once promises and plans had been made everyone got up and departed en masse back to Baker Street. The Watsons picked up their bags and suitcases, and the entire merry group trouped off to the train station. Both Sherlock and John were hugged and squeezed, kissed on the cheek by everyone except Owen who settled for shaking their hands firmly, “I’ll email you about those developments Sherlock.”

John smiled at his lover who nodded eagerly, “It was pleasant meeting you Owen, we’ll see you again sometime soon.”

Owen looked at John and both cousins smiled at each other, “Travel safe Owen, Sherlock’s really looking forward to those reports. No detail too small, remember that.”

“Right John, I’ll keep it all in mind.” John found that every bit of jealousy he’d felt was entirely eradicated. He was Sherlock’s and Sherlock was his, and nothing would ever change in that regard. He even felt a bit of a jolt inside as he watched the carriage carry his family away. Owen was going to visit with other people while he was still in the country, and so off the Watsons went, leaving John at the station with Sherlock holding him tight.

When they got back home they found a letter in the mail bowl by the door. It was hand-written and the card inside just said, “Mrs. Watson was right so I’m sorry. I’ll be more professional from now on. Donovan.”

Sherlock looked at it curiously, “She’s going to charge us a fee for her abuses?”

John laughed, “I think she means that she’s going to be less rude and more on-the-job than she’s been previously.”

Sherlock shrugged, dropped the letter back into the bowl and took John’s hand. “Let’s get sweaty.”

That sounded like a fine way to spend the rest of their holidays, so John nodded and let his boyfriend nearly drag him those seventeen steps back up to their rooms where they did precisely that. Sherlock had a lot of ideas, more than they could explore in a single day, or even a week, or a month. No, it would take years and years of trying before they got around to testing out all of those notions, but John didn’t mind. Everything was fine, just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!
> 
> Yes I know I meant to have this done for Christmas but there you have it. It's complete at last though so best wishes to all.

**Author's Note:**

> Cousin Owen is a real entity science dude with brilliance and everything Sherlock inside his noggin but manages to look like John on the outside and when I discovered he was a real human being I basically started internal screaming and didn't stop.


End file.
